


Overdrive

by Dulcinea



Category: Metallica
Genre: M/M, Motorcycles, POV First Person, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lars and James head out somewhere. Set in Summer 1986. Midwest. Inspired by Judas Priest's Turbo Lover. From Lars's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overdrive

Where the fuck _is_ that fucking motherfucker? I've been sitting here for the past twenty minutes waiting for his late ass, dipping fries in my chocolate shake. He told me, "Be on time for once dick. Five o'clock at the In-And-Out across the street." So here I am and what does he fucking do? Be late himself. Once he gets here, I'm gonna chew him out good with a huge shit-eating grin on my face.

I have no idea what he is up to. Who knows what goes through that crazy Hetfield mind when he has an idea. Whatever it is this time, it's probably stupid, farfetched and a total failure in progress. But I let him. Because I like him. Like a fool. 

Oh, sure, he's hot, sex on legs and all that, but sometimes, I wonder why the hell I bother with that shit-for-brains. What with all he accidents he ends up in. The skateboarding incidents. The bar fights. The drunk fueled matches about who can make the biggest crack in the wall with their foreheads-- well, that was pretty funny, and I was kind of a judge in it, and slight participant... but that's not the point. The point is that he's late, I'm eating chocolate-dipped fries and I'm pissed off, bored and could be doing better things. Like, watching a movie. Reading a book. Getting drunk with Kirk and Cliff. 

Okay yeah I had nothing else better to do. But it beats waiting for his late ass for the past twenty, thirty minutes. 

Ugh. When the hell is he going to show up? Maybe I should cross the street, go back to the hotel, hope to God I don't catch Cliff and Kirk in the act again and enjoy a night of boozing and watching bad b-movies Kirk brings in his suitcase. It was pretty fun last time, drunk on Jager and who knows what else, throwing shit at the television and falling over each other.

Oh. That's right. The first night we did that on our first Euro tour, I ended up in James' lap... and then we went to our room later and...

Yeah. 

_Yeah._

Mm. That was pretty fun... God he kisses good.

Okay, stop that Ulrich. Time to check the watch-- aaaand it's twenty-five minutes late. Joy of joys. Dammit Hetfield, where the fuck are you?

My box of fries is almost empty. So's my chocolate shake. He better not have been planning a dinner tonight, I'm already full. ... What am I saying? James Hetfield, being romantic, like a sensible sorta-kinda-seeing-him-but-won't-admit-it -- and I can't believe I'm fucking thinking this -- boyfriend? James Hetfield, doing dinner and a movie? In this lifetime? Ha. Yeah right. As if. 

...Asshole.

Ugh. Stop that, Ulrich. Stop it, right now. You know he wouldn't be able to do anything romantic even if someone put a gun to his head. He'd stare at the barrel and go, "What?" Stop with the high expectations. If you wanted a -- goddamn it get a better word for this, but it's the only one that works right now -- boyfriend... you'd have grabbed Cliff, not James. Or maybe snagged Charlie from Anthrax. Or one of the roadies. Or a groupie. Anyone in the world was more romantic than James fucking Hetfield.

And what's up with the expectations to begin with? You've only been dating, what, a year? Two? That doesn't qualify for full blown out romance. And when the hell did you become a lovey-dovey clingy... boyfriend? That's right. Clingy plus you equals no. And James hates clingy. And romance. So, stop it. Right now. Pronto. Got it? Good.

Yep. I can do this. I can totally do this. 

He's thirty minutes late now. 

That's cool with me!

Yep. Totally cool.

Not disappointed at all. Nope.

Not at all.

...Not at all.

...

...Oh who am I kidding. 

I do want a romantic evening _just once._ Is that too much to ask? Hey brain, you think James will have a fit if I tell him, "Can you be on time if you want to go on a date with me?" You think he'll have a fucking aneurysm if I say the big D word? 

Oh come on Lars. You know the answers to all your damn questions, and the answer is one word: Yes. He'll freak out. To everything. Especially the big D word. And I'll flat out kill him if I say the, ugh, B word. _Boyfriend._ Can I, like, get a better word for this? I need a thesaurus on me at all times, I swear. 

Mm, maybe I should finish off these fries and this shake and go bug Cliff and Kirk now. James wouldn't be this late ever... if he cares about something, that is. If it was us going to a guitar store or seeing some cars or skateboards or something he'd be there in one minute flat. I shouldn't have opened my mouth saying, "Hey, let's go do something cool tonight, you and me." Shouldn't have let Butterfingers Hetfield be in charge of this shit. That's why I'm in control of the... dates, ugh... and why I make sure I know where we are going and shit. This is totally the last time I'm letting him do this shit on me. I'm better than that, dammit. 

And I am not going to mope about this. I refuse to give him that satisfaction. Fuck that. "Oh Lars, I'm sorry I was late," he'll say, and I'll be so piss poor drunk I'll be like, "Fine with fucking me! Pull up a chair, let's watch some porn, and maybe then you'll give a shit about me--"

Okay, stop right there Ulrich. You're being petty. And childish. And sore. Like... just... no. Stop it. Right now. Finish the food. Get up. Cross the street. And watch a movie and go to sleep. Fuck James. Just make yourself happy. And stop thinking about what you feel. Hell, stop thinking. Period.

Hopefully there's some beer leftover in one of the roadie's rooms. I'll go steal some of that, take it to my room and that'll help me stop thinking for sure.

Fuck you James.

Ugh.

Time to...

...

Oh _hello_ there. 

Look at what just parked.

Leather boots, leather pants, leather jacket, leather gloves. Black helmet, and a fucking black hot rod with a fire tattoo finish for the front and sides.

God _damn._ Unf. 

Look at that fucking hot stuff on that Harley there. Jesus, what a fucking... ngh, I could just bite my _teeth_ into those legs...

Okay Lars, be calm. Stop biting your bottom lip. Just... be cool. 

That's right. Dip that fry into the shake... swirl it around... eat it. Slowly. 

God I can't stop staring. Look at him dismount that bike like a pro. Swinging those fucking _hot_ legs over. Fuck.

So what if James isn't here? I just got my eye candy of the week right there....

...who is approaching me. 

Oh god, I dropped my fry in the shake. I'm shaking. Oh fuck, who cares. This sex god in leather is approaching me and he's taking off his helmet and--

...familiar blonde hair spills out over his shoulders.

Oh that son of a--

"Goddamn it Hetfield!"

James grins like a cat that ate the canary. Just the biggest smug, shit-eating grin. Ever. The bastard.

"I saw how you were looking at me! And here I thought I was the only one for you." 

"You loser." God I hate him, even if that smile is melting my insides. Asshole. I point to the bike. "Is that why you're thirty fucking minutes late? And who the fuck in their right mind gave you access to a motorcycle?"

That smug grin doesn't go away. It gets worse. "Oh... I have my connections."

I roll my eyes and stand up. "Well at least now I know where you spent your first paycheck from Master."

"Hey! Stop looking at my account stuff."

"Someone has to balance it, Mr. Fast Spender." 

"You're one to talk, Mr. House Buyer."

"It's call an investment, dick."

"Whatever." James grabs my shake and fries and devours them. I swear, he was a pig in his past life. I head for the bike and touch its left handlebar. Shit, this is a pretty penny.

"Did you buy this?"

"Nope. Total loan. For free!" He bypasses me, throwing the empty shake and box behind him. Seriously, what a pig. "Hop on. We gotta get there by nightfall."

"Where?" 

He mounts the bike again, handing me over a spare helmet. "Here. Put this on."

I frown. "Where are we going?"

He reaches behind him and pats the empty seat. "Come on, Lars. We gotta get there by nightfall."

I glare. "James. Tell me where we are going."

He ignores me completely, as usual, and puts on his helmet. "Let's go!"

I roll my eyes and sigh. I swear to God, if I didn't like him so much, I wouldn't go through this shit. He _knows_ I'm a curious shit. I hate surprises. But it is him... and him giving me a surprise... for once? Well. Can't pass that up.

It takes me a minute to situate the helmet on, but I get it secured. And I'd be lying if I said it wasn't... hot... putting my arms around James' waist, feeling that leather underneath my arms, pressing up against his strong, warm back, resting my cheek on his leather shoulder. 

"Ready."

He revves the engine and oh God, my dick gets hard. I can't help it. I can smell the leather, I can smell him... the vibrations, his body-- and shit, we start moving backwards. 

I tighten my arms around his waist. This is fucking scary, moving without the safety of car walls around me. I'm used to driving on a bike, but this is motorized, and I'm not in control. James is. 

James looks over his shoulder. I can't see his face, but his voice sounds concerned. "You okay?" 

"Um. Y-Yeah. It's, uh... weird."

"Just hold on tight. I won't let you fall."

He revvs the engine again and I bit down on my bottom lip. Fuck. I'm hard as shit and James is there, and... I have to calm down or I'm gonna stain my pants. 

And then it hits me, what he said. 'I won't let you fall.' 

Aaand there goes my insides, melting. Just because of what he said, and how he said it. I swear I'm pathetic. 

We're driving southbound away from the city. The buildings reseed in size until they disappear completely and we're on a clear highway near sunset. I'm glad I bundled up right. It feels chilly, the temperature dropping, and all that cold wind could give me a fucking cold I don't need. We're still on tour dammit, we can't afford a setback.

But... it _is_ nice out here. The city we're in is literally in the middle of nowhere, so we don't have to drive too far out to hit the countryside. And it is nice. Pretty nice. The sky's changing colors, the sun's falling behind the mountains in the distance and the wheat fields turn gold... and I've got James in my arms. Yeah. It's not so bad. Almost kinda worth the hour wait. 

He's going off the highway, heading down a dirt road, and I'd be concerned if it wasn't James driving. I'm putting my hopes up -- again, as usual -- thinking he might have, just _might_ have planned this whole thing and scouted the area earlier. But no, I know him too well. It's spur-of-the-moment, so we'll get lost and I'll bitch him out when he finally admits it was spur-of-the-moment, and it'll take us two or three hours to get back to the city, and we won't talk to each other the rest of the night until he comes with those puppy dog eyes, and I'll have no choice but to give in... but it'll be worth it. Now I'm sure as hell not going to tell him I actually like his spontaneity. He'll end up doing it more often if I do. Fuck that. We have schedules to keep.

And then we stop, parking on the side of the road. "What the fuck?"

He doesn't answer, the dick. James takes off his helmet and throws it to the side.

I get off the bike -- as ungraceful as possible, but I don't care about stumbling -- and grab the helmet.

"Hey! Be careful with it. This isn't ours, remember?" 

"Uh-huh."

And of course he's not listening. I take off my own helmet, shaking off the sweat. Shit it's cold out here. And we're seriously in the middle of fucking nowhere. No trees, no mountains. Just empty field. It's a little... upsetting, all this open space.

I startle, shaken out of my thoughts, when James' hand grabs mine, jerking me towards him. 

"C'mon," he says.

"Where? We're in the middle of fuck nowhere."

"Just c'mon."

"What, are there cows to tip over? Birds to shoot?"

He says nothing. Great. So I follow him into the field, and the motorcycle behind us gets smaller and smaller. I mentally make a note of where it is, how far we walk, the paces and feet and everything, just in case. I always have to be prepared when it comes to moron here. 

Well it's still the middle of nowhere. Nothing great about it. Empty field. That's it. No trees, no birds, no cows. Nothing. And it's fucking cold. Well, not cold-cold. But chilly. 

James lets go of my hand and kneels on the ground beside me. It's then I notice he has a backpack on him. Hm, maybe that's what that side-package thing was earlier. He better be starting up a fire. 

He's not. It's a blue blanket. James throws the blanket onto the grass, spreads it out and sits down on it. 

"Aren't you gonna sit down?"

I cross my arms over my chest. " _This_ is what you made me wait an hour for?"

"Just sit down."

" _This_ is what we drove all that distance for?"

James sighs. "Will you fucking sit down?"

"Did you bring anything to eat? Extra blankets? A firer starter kit?"

"Why the fuck would I need a firer starter kit?"

"Because I'm cold, asshole!"

He's laughing at me. Dickhead. "I thought you Europeans were used to the cold."

"Fine, it's chilly! You should've packed extra blankets anyway."

I plop down onto the blanket, far away from him, my arms still crossed over my chest and my legs tucked under me. James looks at me all fucking amused, so goddamn pleased with himself. God I hate that look. It's half cute, half irritating. Motherfucker.

"There, I'm sitting. Can we go back now before any bugs decide to eat me?"

"Oh come on Lars. Haven't you done this before?" James scoots closer to me and I look away from him towards the area we came from. Gotta remember where the motorcycle is so we can get out of here. 

"Done what?" This is so fucking upsetting. We're seriously in the middle of nowhere. There's nothing for me to look at so I can keep my attention away from him.

Oh God. 

His hand is on my neck. Pushing my hair away. And his lips are on my ear. His warm breath. Fuck, I can smell him from this close. The leather jacket and him. 

"You know." Ugh, that voice. His lips are right there. God. "Sit on a blanket and watch the stars?"

"W-What?" I'm so distracted by the heat of his breath and that voice and god those lips I can barely focus. Fuck I hate him.

By the way he's smirking, he can tell the effect he has on me too. "Haven't you kicked back with a friend and watched the stars together? Did you do that back in Denmark?"

Fucking great, I'm blushing. I can feel the heat rising from my cheeks. Is he honestly suggesting what he's suggesting? Is he actually being... romantic? 

Well duh, Ulrich, you are sitting on a blanket in the middle of fuck nowhere as you happily keep calling this place, and you're all alone with James, and no one is here and why the fuck does he have to smell so good all the fucking time, and why does he have to smile so sweet and why are those eyes always so fucking blue--

"Lars?"

... And why the hell did I just make an ass out of myself staring at him like a dumbass for the past minute? Smooth, Ulrich. Smooth.

"Um, uh. No. I haven't. Er. I didn't. Back in Denmark."

He slides his hand away from my neck to my shoulder and pulls me close to his chest. "Then let's make up for that. Me and my brothers used to do this when we were kids. It's pretty relaxing."

"Oh. Okay." There I go again, putting my hopes up. It's not romantic, it's platonic. His brothers did it with him as a kid. It's nothing special. 

We lay back on the blanket and I settle my cheek on his chest. He tucks me underneath his chin a little, securing his arm around my waist. And James is right. It's relaxing laying like this, feeling closer to James like I never have. As exposed as I still feel, it's sort of... intimate, doing this. 

Get a grip, Ulrich. Intimate does not equal romantic. Indulge in what you have now, but don't go overboard. 

Still. It's nice doing this with him. I don't think we've done something this... intimate before. It's a nice change of pace. 

And the stars? God. I've never seen so many stars in my life. It's a full moon out tonight, so I'm sure there's a lot more stars to see if the Moon was gone. But with the Moon out I can see James and the grass and stuff. There's a difference though from the city and the country. No light pollution. 

I can smell James with the wet grass around us. The nighttime smell you usually find only in the countryside, where it's chilly but it's fresh. Like, it's natural. It works so well with how James smells, and the leather he's wearing makes it even better. 

My eyes close and I feel myself drifting away, hearing James' heartbeat, his breathing, smelling him. He wraps his arm around my waist tighter, and I feel the ghost of his kiss on my forehead as sleep weighs me down and draws me under. 

I'm drifting in-and-out of consciousness when he rolls me over onto my back and kisses me. His hands creep into mine, pinning me to the blanket, as he settles between my legs. 

Fuck he feels good. Big and warm. His mouth over mind makes me forget the cold. My legs wrap around tight his waist and he bucks into me, our crotches meeting. 

Then I wake up, realizing what's fucking happening.

I break the kiss, panting. "Stop."

He didn't move away. No, he moved down, to my neck, right where he knows I like it. And I moan when he bites down on that very area I love. Bites down and sucks.

"We shouldn't," I try again. 

He's not paying attention. He's still sucking on my fucking neck, and I can't help it. I'm arching into him, squeezing his hands in mine, grinding up into him, tilting my head away so he can do it again and again. 

Goddamn that mouth of his. He pulls on my skin between his teeth, fuck, bruising. A fucking hickey that'll last and everyone will see. And I don't fucking care. I want more. And he knows I need more.

He pulls away to lick the mark he made. "You don't want me to stop."

I shiver. Fuck, that voice. Knowing me. Ordering. "But... we can get caught."

"Yeah? By who?" Fuck, god, fuck. He's grinding his crotch into mine. Humping me. "One of those birds you were talking about? Or a cow? Who, Lars?"

"I-I don't know." Fuck I can't talk or think. "Just... someone. It's not... it's...bad...and..."

He squeezes my hands tight, bites into my neck hard and bucks into me so fast I lose it. I gasp, I writhe, I tilt my body into his. And then he uses That Voice and I'm gone. 

"It's what I want."

James looms down over him, those eyes on me, and I can't resist any longer. I lean up and kiss him rough, our teeth clinking, our lips meshing. He takes the control away from me, adding to the pressure, pinning my whole body down. And I let him. I want him to. 

He knows exactly how to play me. After two years together, fumbling in bed, figuring out things, learning about each other, he learned all my weak points. But the greatest one was simple: take control away from me, and I'm yours. Not even I knew that one until he did it... again, and again, and again.

I keep my hands flat on the blanket as he relieves me of all my clothes. My shoes are gone, my shirt pulled over my head, my jeans yanked down with the underwear. But he leaves the socks on. 

He touches the sole of my left foot. "Sit up."

I'm shaking all over as I obey him, half from that voice, half from his look, half from the cold, half from arousal, half from, well, this, something, I don't know. Maybe that's thirds. Or fourths.

He rubs his thumb into the sole. He looks like a wolf ready to feast, hungry and needy. I love it when he looks at me like this, but I hate the silence. I hate how he fucking looks at me and says nothing for so fucking long. It drives me crazy because I know he does on purpose. To test me. To push me. If I didn't get off on this so hard...

James keeps his eyes on me as he takes off his leather jacket. And he offers it to me. 

"Put it on."

I'm trembling. I can't stop trembling. I take it from him, slip it on, trembling like a leaf or a branch or whatever the fuck. My teeth are chattering and my heart wants to burst right out of my rib cage and my throat's all tight like tangled wires. 

I must be a fucking sight. Naked and hard except for my socks and his jacket. Fucking ridiculous looking. Fucking pathetic. 

I fucking want to come. Right now.

And by the looks of James, so does he, licking his lips, his cheeks turning pink, his breathing getting all heavy. Fuck he's hot. 

"Grab the bag."

I reach behind for it and hand it to him. He moves then from between my legs onto his back, and he grabs my arm and pulls me down on top of him. What the fuck?

His hand instantly falls down my head, pushing me down. That I understand without the words. I scoot down his body and unzip him, pushing the flaps down with one hand, the other digging inside his briefs and pulling him out. 

My mouth falls over his cock, and I lift my eyes to his as I suck him off the way he likes. All drawn out, taking my time, nice and slow, moving my head up and down. I like doing this for him. I enjoy it. It used to sound weird. Now I like it. I like how it makes James react... like I have some power over him too. 

His fingers dig into my scalp, clutching me hard, but they don't stop me. His mouth falls open like he's in pain, but he's not screaming. He's moaning, spreading his legs a little, tilting his hips up towards me, thrusting into my mouth. I suck him hard, get my tongue into it, and it makes James moan louder, his eyes tightening, his fingers yanking on me. The other hand pulls at the bag beside his head, and his teeth tangle into his lips, grunting, fighting for every breath. 

And my dick reacts as he does, twitching, leaking over myself. I rub into his hip, thrusting a little, wanting to touch myself and come right now. But I can't. I have to wait. Fuck. Just... fuck.

"S-Stop. Now."

That I have to be smug over. Hitch in voice? Yep, that was me. 

I pull off, licking my lips, tasting him. His hand keeps me, so my neck is bowed, his lips overing over the tip of his cock. I hear him rummaging through the bag and I only have one reason why in mind.

Sure enough, he presses the bottle of lube into my hand. I smile. Well, at least he was prepared for something.

I know what he wants, what he likes. The fact that we're outside doesn't bug me anymore. I coat my fingers and look into his eyes as I reach behind me and slip a finger in. I've only done this to myself a few times, all because of James' begging and pleading... but it's fucking hot. Really fucking hot. And the way James seems to eat me alive as I do this to myself makes it even hotter. 

When I can fuck myself easy with two fingers, I crawl up beside him, rolling onto my side. But James grabs my shoulder and pulls me up on top. 

I'm shaking again as I straddle his waist. "J-James?"

His hands fall to my hips. "I. Uh."

He pushes my hips back. Lifting them a little. To his crotch.

Oh, fuck.

Shit. Fuck. Shit, fuck, shit... I can't breathe. Jesus. I think I'm gonna die. 

"Do... do you want me to..." Fuck I can't even say it. No, I can do it. I can do it. "Ride you?"

"Y-Yeah. Like... yeah." He's blushing too, and he can't talk either. That makes me feel better. I've never done this before. He's never done this before. It's like our first time again, except we're not in a bed. We're in the middle of fucking nowhere. 

I take a deep breath. Might as well get it over with. It's not hard. I can do this. 

I reach behind me for him, keeping my eyes on his. I feel as anxious as he looks as I grab his cock and sit up a little, scoot back a bit. Fuck this is fucking weird... no, Lars, don't think about it, don't think about it... just do it.

I shut my eyes and I can't help it, I whimper as I settle myself down onto him. 

He fills me up in one movement and I gasp when I feel him all the way in. Fuck. _Fuck._

My heart's beating so fast. I can't fucking breathe. I can't fucking move. 

What the fuck is wrong with me? It's not like I haven't done this before, and it doesn't hurt... it's just... weird. 

I'm fucking shaking. What the fuck. 

I look down at him and I feel more exposed than ever. I'm... I'm on top. And he's inside me, while I'm on top. And it does feel good, and he looks fucking hot, and... and it's good, but... weird. I feel so fucking vulnerable like this. I fucking like it and I fucking hate it. What a fucking combo. 

James' eyes have never looked so big before. "Wow."

"W... What? What is it?"

He gapes for a few moments, chasing for his voice, searching for the words. "You... you're... this... wow."

There's a smartass response I don't bother saying. He said so much in so little again. 

I smile instead and rest my hands on his, over my hips. 

And then... I move. Up and down. 

It's weird, but it feels good. Really good. I'm moving slow, up and down, holding his hands to my hips. And James looks so mesmerized, just, staring at me, gaping at me, totally in awe. I like it. A lot. I like pleasing him. I like seeing how he looks as I do things to him. It... yeah, it makes me feel good. 

I wonder if he'll like this...

I let go of his hands and wander mine up and down my chest, as slow as I am moving my hips. 

He gasps like he's been decked, his pupils shrinking, his body jerking up into me. 

I bit down on my bottom lip. Fuck, that was hot. 

God, I've only done this before, what, two, three times. But I know James like it when I do this. And I want him to go crazy. I want him to lose it. 

I let a hand fall all the way down, teasing myself, fingertips grazing just the base of my cock. The other goes to one of my nipples.

His jaw falls wide open as I start to stroke myself and pinch my nipple.

He gets a mewl out of me when he squeezed my hips hard and thrusts up into me even harder. Fuck. 

I can't breathe. My hips are rocking faster. Moving faster. He's moving faster in me. 

I'm stroking myself to our rhythm. And I can't look away from him. I'm pulling at my nipple, yanking on it, bouncing, rocking, meeting his thrusts and _fuck_ those hands on my hips, bruising, I can feel the bruises...

"Oh, _fuck!_ " 

I throw my head back, shutting my eyes tight, tilting into my own hand. I can't... I can't take it...

He's in me, fucking me, and I'm fucking myself, stroking myself. The leather around me, his hands on me, I can hear him, smell him, feel him. 

" _James..._ "

Oh. Oh fuck. Fuck, shit. Fucking shit.

_Fuck!_

I take the hand from my nipple away, turn it into a fist and bite down on it as I come hard. It's a squeak that rips from my throat, a fucking squeak only James can make me do. 

My whole body unravels and I flop forward onto him, sweating, exhausted, a total mess. And James is there. He holds me to him, his arms around my back. And he's still in me, fucking me. 

His hands slide down to my ass, squeezing them and lifting me up. He tilts himself higher, feet planted on the blankets for leverage, and he fucks me, takes me, and I whimper, I can't stop it. I whimper and moan into his neck, my fingers pulling at his shirt, and when I feel him gasp and come inside me, I moan with him and sigh when he pulls out. 

_... God._

For _heldve._

I slide down to the blanket, curled onto his side. James keeps an arm around my waist, a hand on my ass. I don't want to move anytime soon, and I don't think he does either. 

And then the cold breeze reminds me of my nakedness. I shiver all over and push myself closer to James. 

"James..."

"Hm?"

"Cold."

He twists around and grabs the bag. I smile when he digs out of it a big yellow blanket and wraps it around me, tucking in the sides. He zips himself back up and situates everything away.

There's that smug-ass grin again. "Did you really think I would've done something like this without extra blankets?"

I tuck myself under his chin. It feels so warm here. So good. "Do you remember where the bike is?"

He freezes underneath me. "Uh..."

I chuckle. Figures. "Don't worry. I made a mental note where it is."

His body relaxes again and he release a big breath. His arm winds around me again and he kisses my forehead. "Thank goodness for that memory of yours."

I close my eyes. Fuck he smells so good. No more talking. Don't want to talk. Just want sleep. Nice post-orgasm sleep.

"Lars?"

Ugh. "Yeah?"

"Did you like this?"

I smile. "Yeah. I did."

I don't miss the way he holds me tighter to him, the way his voice lowers, or the way he kisses my forehead. It says so much in so little. "Cool."

Okay, so he's not Mr. Perfect. He's not the ideal... _boyfriend_ , and he's not accident free. He fucks up, he makes a shit ton of mistakes, he can infuriate me faster than anything else on Earth and he can be a forgetful moron at times. Most of the time. Almost all the time. But it's moments like this where I remember why I like him so much. Moments like this where I think, yeah, this is the guy for me. There are probably others better and smarter and hotter, but no one can be like my James.


End file.
